Mind of a Lone Scizoid
by Israfel.R
Summary: Drabbles from the personal life of Sherlock Holmes. Warnings: Drug use, suicide attempts, sexual activities. Based on roleplay blog.
1. Drabble 001

Laying in his bed, Sherlock stared at the ceiling. Pupils dilated fully, he stares as if the white wall is the best item in the world. A small groan escapes his lips as he flex his left arm as if it would cause the flow of the drug to settle in faster. All the horrible stress of the day leaving him, all the stupid and dull people's remarks leaving his brain, and the flow of beautiful nothingness takes over his body. A small smile goes on his lips, the calming feeling makes him numb, even though it will crash later, but he takes the short bliss in this stressful time to help him to continue in his life.


	2. Drabble 002

Sighing, Sherlock rolled over to his side while coming down from the high. His head began to feel like it was splitting in two, but it was a welcome pain other than the emotional one he was having before. He glances at his door, trying to focus on hearing if anyone was in the rooms next to him. He didn't hear anyone. Sitting up, as if in a drunken state, Sherlock stared at his white bed sheets with some wet stain near an empty needle. Another sigh escapes his dry lips, as he takes the used equipment in hand and hides it quickly while in pain. Laying back down, he pulls the blanket over his head to shut the world away.


	3. Drabble 003

Sherlock flips the tv on, channel surfing for something to keep his mind still and not overdose on the drugs. Blank eyes stop on the sci-fi channel, seeing a man's head get blown up from a sniper rifle. Frowning at the over the top gore, he lays back with his head and feet hanging off his seat. A dulling pain settles behind his eyes as he watch the undead get shot off one by one. A tired sigh leaves his mouth as he tries to settle and watch the tv.


	4. Drabble 004

A sigh leaves his lips as Sherlock blankly stare out the window. Everyone living their dull lives with no care at all, not knowing there is another world within the one they are in now. It was depressing to him, how those lowly people are effecting his own life. Sherlock's eyes wondered over the people walking below, imagining how they would react in moments of terror. It was a dark place for him, but Sherlock tends to do that on his off days. Shaking his head, Sherlock moves to his chair with another sigh. Taking out his violin, he plays a few screeching notes that plays off his screaming emotion his is keeping inside.


	5. Drabble 005

Sherlock knows what he is putting into his body is wrong, he knew that from day one, but the boredom caused him to not care about anything but relieving the dull ache. He needs some form of excitement in his life, and if that meant putting drugs into his body to see the effects it will have… Then so be it. It's for science, Sherlock would tell himself. He loved the different effects each drug would have on him; he even have a little journal he kept to document it. Sometimes when he is really bored, Sherlock would use the same drug but under different states of his body. And even though he has John, and he knows that his flat mate… No, best friend, would hate him because of the way he treats his body; but Sherlock could care less.


	6. Drabble 006

Laying on the sofa, Sherlock rolls to his side. His head is pounding fast as he shuts his eyes tight. A groan leaves his lips as search to find what is wrong with him. He was positive that it was not because he haven't eaten in two days, he has gone longer without it. Shaking his head, Sherlock stood with an uneasy feeling. Sighing, he wished someone was to come home to help him but he was not going to call for it. Taking out John's laptop, he begins to do research with his head spinning.


	7. Drabble 007

Sherlock grabbed the carcass of the pig, dragging it into the middle of the living room. Glancing around he made a quick note of all the plastic wrapping he had secure over the furniture, then tightening his hold on the bat and-

BAM!

Took a hard swing at it, the blood squirts out with bits of the skull and skin. Taking another swing, more of the skull burst with blood. Then another with parts of the brain. Kneeling down, Sherlock takes more harder and shorter swings, blood spraying everywhere.

The face of the pig smashes into nothing but gore, Sherlock stands up staring at his handy work with a frown. Sighing, he whips his face with his sleeve to remove the blood, "Hmm… still bored."


	8. Drabble 008

Sherlock could not stand the boredom, his inner voice working against him as he tried very hard to not let his mind wonder too far into the dark parts of his brain. He stared at the ceiling, eyes then screwed closed as his breathing increased. Why is he feeling this? He can't do this anymore. He doesn't want to feel this anymore. It was better when he had no one, he should have never came back to London.

He needed this thoughts to go away and the soft whispers his mind sent the one solution Sherlock hasn't done in a long time. To fall back into using drugs was not the best idea, but it is a sweet promise.

No one would come for him, everyone is in their own little world.

Sherlock sat up, body trembling. He could find the batch Lestrade's sniffer dogs did not find. Under his bed, resting innocently with tools to cook them. No one would understand how he feels nor would they understand why he is going to go back to the one thing that always made him feel good.


End file.
